Promises Kept
by Hay Bails
Summary: Oswin the Metallic Human has pain that only the Doctor can heal.


There was fear in his eyes the next morning, when he woke up.

He scrambled away from me, putting as much distance as he could between us. And how could I blame him? The TARDIS hummed comfortingly to him, reminding him of who I was, why I was here.

Why a Dalek was on his ship.

He took a full five seconds to turn to look at me, composing himself, trying not to let the fear he had felt show through. Fear of me… of my voice…

"Oswin," he muttered. "Oswin, Oswin, Oswin…"

I held stock still. (Stock still? Stalk still? Ha, ha.) I couldn't bear to talk to him, to hear what my own voice had become.

The Doctor, shaking from the shock of earlier, came up to me. "Oswin, I am so sorry."

I let my eyestalk fall a little, trying to convey that it was all right.

Not that it was, of course. Things were far from all right.

The Doctor hesitantly put a hand on the top of my casing. "Can you… can you feel that?" he asked.

"Yes." I said. The Doctor flinched at the robotic sound of my voice, but his hand stayed where it was. The disgust showed in his face… but he didn't move an inch.

The sadness welled up inside me. I knew I couldn't stave it off forever.

"Doc…tor," I hiccupped metallically. I couldn't cry, not properly, but I think somehow he still sensed that somewhere inside, the hurt continued to carve into me.

"Oswin?" He asked helplessly. "Did… did I say something?"

"No… no," I tried to turn away from him. "I'm… I'm fine."

"I know you aren't."

He looked at me guiltily, as if sorry that he couldn't truly express his sympathy. And, yes, I supposed that some small part of him was sympathetic. After all, I was only human. Wasn't I?

A copper-kettle human caught between a toilet plunger and an egg beater.

The Doctor stared at me with his centuries-old eyes, trying to gauge my emotions. It must have been difficult. Copper kettles don't take easily to displays of feeling. Hesitantly, he rubbed the hand that still sat on my top around to my side, onto one of the bronze globes that covered my metal body. "And that? Can you feel that?"

"Yes," I said as softly as possible.

"Does this… is this…"  
"Is this what, Doctor?"

"Is this comforting for you?"

I paused, taken aback. Here I was, in a body that the Doctor had naturally come to hate after years and years of fighting my kind, and he was willingly touching me. He actually wanted to comfort me. His worst mortal enemy, and he only wanted to show compassion.

"Yes, Doctor. It feels… nice."

He gave the smallest of smiles – was it me or did it look more like a grimace? – and began to move his hand gently up and down my side.

In my mind, my eyes welled up with tears at this show of compassion. I began to sob – and what an ugly sound it was, coming from a Dalek voice – but the Doctor was there to catch me.

"Shh… Oswin, it's all right…" He flailed his other hand, the one not rubbing my body, around for a second or two, trying to find a place on me that would be acceptable for comfort. He settled for gently brushing my eyestalk.

Automatically, I flinched, rolling back a foot or two. It must have been a Dalek weakness; the eyestalk was the most vulnerable spot on my body. The Doctor tensed, but remained where he was. I let out another helpless sob. "I'm so sorry, Doctor…"

"Don't… don't be sorry Oswin…" He took a cautious step toward me. "Is this… all right, for you?" he asked gently.

"Yes…" I wept. "It feels… nice. I wish… I could… reciprocate."

Reciprocate. Illuminate. Intimidate. Exter. Extermi.

_No._

I refused to even think the word. I sobbed pathetically.

"Oswin."

He put his hand back on my side, onto a 'safe' spot.

I whimpered.

"Oswin, please, let me help you."

I said nothing.

The Doctor, hesitant but determined, put his other hand on my other side. He then pulled me into an awkward sort of hug. I laughed a little, through my tears. How odd we must have looked.

Still, he continued to hold me, regardless of how it looked. Regardless of how it must have felt. Hugging your worst enemy - it must have been a new all-time low for him.

"Oswin, I am sorry. I am so, so sorry…" he breathed. I could feel his heartbeats reverberating through my casing. His hearts were racing. He must have been terrified. This poor, ancient soul.

I cried even harder, mourning his losses for him.

"Why are you crying?" he muttered.

"Because I can't comfort you back."

I felt small, hot droplets of water run down my casing. I knew he was crying too, then. I said nothing about it for fear that he might leave me. We cried together like that for god knows how long, him wrapped around me like a lost child and me sitting there like a pathetic fool.

This could have been so easy. He could have just left me on the Asylum to die.

All this for a promise kept.

A promise to let me see the stars.


End file.
